


Can you feel my beating heart?

by Pickl3lily



Series: KillerWave Week 2 - 2016 [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Explosion aftermath, F/M, Gen, KillerWave Week 2016, helping hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:23:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7322335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pickl3lily/pseuds/Pickl3lily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killerwave week 2, day 2 - Helping hands. </p><p>Mick isn't sure what happened, how or why. He certainly isn't sure why it would appear that Caitlin Snow of all people would be the one to offer a helping hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can you feel my beating heart?

It was like a collage of colour and sound when Mick finally managed to prise his eyes apart. His eyes registered flashes of colour – silver, white, electric blue – before finally taking in the shapes around him. Every blink felt like an Olympian trial as he took in the destruction surrounding him. There was smoke, thick and black and pretty flames dancing in his periphery. The silhouettes of people, unrecognisable through the fog of smoke, were also present. The sounds that he registered had come first, before opening his eyes, but they hadn’t been distinguishable. Everything was blending together for a long while, even as his eyes allowed the scene to come into focus – the first clear thing Mick heard, picked aside from the ringing in his ears, the screams, the cries, the graunching of metal and crashing of glass, was a voice. “Shit!”

The voice was high – feminine. Didn’t sound like Sara or Lisa, so Mick couldn’t immediately place it, but it was definitely familiar. He took in the scent of smoke and detected a hint of alcohol – not the drinking kind, but the kind used to sterilise and his mind went to hospitals and surgeons. His lips quirked. “Snow.” It was barely even a rasp that escaped his lips, his breathing felt off – off tempo, and... strangely wet. His mouth felt wet too and his chest was getting heavier and heavier. Taking in a deep breath did nothing to alleviate the pressure though, instead merely causing him to cough and splutter, that wetness from his mouth feeling like it was increasing.

He dimly registered being rolled onto his side as he choked and heaved, the new position allowing him to cough the liquid out, but he was soon rolled onto his back again. “No anaesthetic. No equipment. This will hurt like a bitch – sorry.” The silhouette of Caitlin Snow – for even if he couldn’t clearly make out the figure, it was undoubtedly her – flashed in and out of focus and Mick thought he saw her remove the ink from a biro pen. Idly he allowed himself to wonder if he had a concussion, before a stab of pain on his chest had him focusing in no time. He didn’t lurch himself up the way he wanted though – his body wouldn’t let him – it was as if he was made of lead and his mind was slowly joining it. The world was slipping away again as he thought he saw that damn biro make another appearance.

 

 

The next time he woke, the world was bright. The air was clear of smoke and he could hear the soft whirr of a fan oscillating – the fact he could feel the intermittent gusts of cool air had admittedly proved useful to placing the sound. Looking around, he realised that he was in a bedroom, far nicer than he had ever been in before, lying on a bed with fancy cream and ivory coloured linen, now stained crimson in places from his blood and sooty black in others. A soft huff of air, separate from the constant noise of the fan drew his attention to the corner of the room, where a brunette woman sat sleeping with her neck crooked at an awkward angle. Her clothes were torn and covered in soot, grime and blood, while small cuts littered her face, neck and arms.

A pressure in his abdomen alerted him to his need for the bathroom, and he immediately moved to sit up and swing his legs off of the bed – he hadn’t even completed the first half of this motion when pain erupted from the dull ache in his chest and he released a grunt of pain in surprise; though not particularly loud, it was apparently enough to disturb the woman sleeping across from him, as she stirred was a sharp inhalation of air, before being battle-ready, lurching to his side in an instant. “How are you feeling?” The question was laced with concern from the doctor as she checked his pupils and her hands began flitting, assessing, across his body.

“Bathroom.” It was all he could do to get the word out, the pain still thrumming solidly, but he refused to have an ‘accident’ in front of the woman. Of course, it was a question as to whether or not he had managed to escape the indignity as she ended up escorting him to the washroom down the hall and having to actually hold his waist to keep him upright as he relieved himself. Her burning cheeks told him that he wasn’t the only one embarrassed with that, though. That was something.

As they made their way back to her bedroom, Mick decided to push his luck a little and try to figure out what was going on. “What happened? How’d I end up…?” He gestured lamely to encompass everything – how he ended up injured, helped by her, _here_. She was huffing against him, arm around his waist surprising strong in its grip, but the effort of supporting him clearly a strain for her petite figure. She didn’t respond until he was back on her bed, propped against the headboard and panting heavily himself – it seemed whatever he had done to his chest was bad enough that just using the toilet was considered considerable exertion. Still panting lightly, Caitlin collapsed on the foot of the bed and began to answer.

“You guys on the Waverider picked me up – not surprised you don’t remember. You were already pretty out of it. I don’t know all of it, I guess you’ll have to talk to the others but, from what I can gather, there was a fight; a big fight and somehow the med-bay got blown up. Sara said you were there trying to get something to get rid of the hangover you had so you could fight better? Or was it Ray that was hung over? I don’t know. But without your med-bay and with you hurt – they came to me. You were just lucky that you were still in a time I existed because there is no way you would have survived a time jump.” By the time she finished talking, her cheeks were still flushed pink, but her breathing had even out slightly and she seemed to have remembered that they weren’t actually friends, what with her awkward babbling account of events and the sudden tensing of her frame as she let her eyes rake quickly over his body.

“And what – you decided to help out the goodness of your heart? Last I checked we weren’t exactly on friendly terms.” Mick knew it wasn’t a good idea to snap at her – that whole thing about not biting the hand that feeds you and all that – but he couldn’t resist, not when this whole situation was so bizarre and he was in so much pain.

“Well…” She started, eyes raking over his form again, and now the gaze seemed different and Mick was the one tensing as she seemed to become almost predatory. “The last time _you_ checked was 2016 – that was four years ago for me and _trust me_ , it’s not the… _goodness_ of my heart that made me decide to give you a helping hand – rather, it has more to do with me not wanting to lose the… helping hands, shall we say, that you give me.” Mick was still confused as hell and fairly certain that this must be some kind of acid trip or hallucination or something, but with such innuendo and wickedness laced in her words and packed into the sly smirk on her face, he found himself not particularly caring as he offered a wolfish grin of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Meh. Thoughts?


End file.
